Blogging about depression, anxiety, recovery, and whatever I can think of.

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Update from the Abyssssssssszzzzz…

These last few months have been a blur of work, sleep, eat, and repeats. I won’t kid ya, there hasn’t been much to write about and the world’s in a shitty enough state that even talking about current events depresses me. Everyone’s an abusive sexaholic and none of us are going to have a even a meager retirement thanks to the game constantly being rigged against regular folks like you and you and her and that dude over there in the corner and all of us, basically.

The podcast (did I mention that I’m doing a Doctor Who podcast called HARRY SULLIVAN IS AN IMBECILE!?) is going quite well. Quite well. It’s a fun hobby and we seem to have a very modest audience. The fact that someone is listening is quite nice.

Recently, I restarted my subscription to Filmstruck. With very few exceptions, I’m not a fan of big budget movies nor the frenetic pace that they seemed to be edited. What I appreciate about Filmstruck — a partnership with cable channel TCM and The Criterion Collection — is the variety of films they have: Kurosawa, Fellini, Goddard, Dick Lester, Robert Altman. There’s plenty of foreign films and only recently did they add a series of short films by Jim Henson.

Just a few days ago, I watched Aguirre, The Wrath of God, a film by Werner Herzog and starring the unpredictable Klaus Kinski and the lush and deadly Peruvian jungle which, let’s face it, is the only thing that could balance a terror like Kinski. It’s a fictional account based on the diary of Gaspar de Carvajal of a Spanish soldier’s search for El Dorado. As Aguirre, Kinski dominates every scene with his violent outbursts, threats, and mad determination to reach the mythical city, despite the ever decreasing number of troops, comrades, and others along on their perilous journey down the Amazon.

The movie ends as Aguirre stands upon his disintegrating raft, overrun by monkeys and littered with the bodies of his fellow travelers, his daughter among them, declaring, “I, the Wrath of God, will marry my own daughter, and with her I will found the purest dynasty the world has ever seen. Together, we shall rule this entire continent. We shall endure. I am the Wrath of God… who else is with me?” The movie matches that of its star, himself prone to tantrums and abuse towards his director, his cast mates, and those working on the film. One gets the sense that any chance of mutiny — either in the story or on the set — would’ve been quickly and cruelly put down.

Seen in the context of our current political climate, one can’t help but see Trump in Aguirre’s uniform, boasting how only he can make American great as he blunders & blusters through mishap after mishap.

Context is everything, ain’t it? Nowadays, we’re shackled with corrupt politicians of many stripes, the ghost of the Nazis rising from its ashes in a country that fought to keep those fuckers from taking over the world. Our planet is fighting the disease of humanity, moneyed bastards run all things, and any poor sap cursed to have been born at this very moment has to contend with an outdated economic system, shrinking wages, and faster shrinking habitable areas to live and not get bombed, boiled, or otherwise blotted off the face of this planet.